


Call Me Daddy

by 1800areyouslapping



Series: Commissions [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Choking, Degradation, F/M, Humiliation, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, cam!girl reader, stepdad!reaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: Dark!Reaper is fem!reader’s stepdad. Reader is a camgirl, and he finds out about her stream. Camgirl’s stream themselves online doing naughty things for tips, just FYI. Kinda like an x-rated Twitch TV. “Tokens” are online camshow website currency. A commission done for Anonymous <3





	Call Me Daddy

He knew it. Was sure of it. The little tickle in his gut never led him astray before. It didn’t leave him astray this time. Mother like daughter. When a whore is left to raise a little girl, that girl’s sure to turn out the same. Reaper wonders: are you a pushover like her? A glutton for punishment? In need of a harsh hand to keep you in line and remind you of your place? To remind you of what you really are? What you’re good for?  

It’s no surprise. To be expected. You moved out. Stated– _shouted–_ adamantly that you could make it on your own. You wouldn’t be living under the same roof as that “freak.” You’re lucky. Lucky that he heard that second hand from your teary, bruised up mother. Who, speaking of, has disappeared. A Talon agent, like him, and never came back from her last mission. The official report says she’s “MIA.” He smells bullshit. You have her to thank for his free time that led him to figure out your dirty little secret.

Making it on your own equates to begging for scraps on camera for strangers on the internet. Clad in cheap pink lace. It’d shred so easily. Parading yourself in front of the camera. Putting on an act as if you’re some innocent little girl who doesn’t stuff her holes full of fake cocks every night. It’s all so contrite. And the dumb horny dogs in your chat eat it all up with wide-open, slobbering mouths.

He chuckles to himself. His bare scared face illuminated by glaring holopad light in his pitch black room. Reaper’s about to take the pathetic mongrels’ toy away. They’ll have to go and find something else to chew on, a different leg to hump.   

He types in the inordinate amount of tokens it takes to secure a private show. Begrudgingly hits submit. Seconds later a big, bright, glittering overlay covers what shows of your face. The camera angle holds steady just above your nose and mouth, as it always does. “ _Private show requested_ ,” surround by flashing hearts and cutely drawn cartoon dicks. Your face lights up with genuine shock and gratitude; well ain’t that something.  

“Oooh, exciting! Thank you _so_ much, ‘evildaddy’ for tipping for a private show!” You bite your lip, suck it into your mouth, and let it pop back out with a cheeky grin. “Looks like you boys’ll be missing me for the next half hour or so.” You dip for a flash of a moment. You wink, teasing, thick lashes at the camera; a rare sight. “That is unless you wanna peek, prices are in the menu below.”  

The room turns private. He receives an invite to join. He accepts, and you pop back up on the screen with a sultry low-lidded look “just” for him. “How can I help you cum, evildaddy?” you ask. “Oh, and don’t be alarmed by my text to speech robot, it speaks for you so I can focus on giving you what you want.”  

He types,  _“Strip. Slowly. And call me daddy.”_  The robotic voice says the words out loud. Deep, gravely, and unnatural. Not all that far off from the way his own voice sounds. He can deal with it.

You giggle. An incessant sound, like nails on a chalkboard. “A striptease? I’d love to take it off for you, Daddy.” Hopping up onto your feet you use a remote to adjust the camera angle. Disappear and reappear quickly with a long sheer, shimmering, pink shawl. Another press of a button on the black remote cradled in your hand and it’s tossed on the ground. Sensual music turns on, baritone drums that sound like a heartbeat followed by rhythmic synthesizers. A little cheesy, but even he has to admit it works.

“Can you see me okay, Daddy?” you ask.  

He types,  _“I can.”_

“Good, good,” you croon. 

Wrapping the fabric tightly around your body, you dip low and get to work. The shawl hugs every single bit of your sinuous form. Accentuates your curves. You sway lazily from side to side. Drop down into a squat, shake your ass and come back up again. Reaper reaches into his sweats with one hand and palms his hot erection. Dry jerks and tugs it out into the open.

Turning around you roll your shoulders back, letting the shawl slowly fall down your back, inch by inch. Bending over you stretch the fabric across your ass. The fabric strains. Makes your ass look plump and poundable. He can just see your puffy cunt from beneath the shawl and the flowery lace settled in between your cheeks.  

He strokes the shaft of his dick enough to feel a twitch in his heavy balls. He smirks. It’s time to start testing your limits. He types, onehanded,  _“You look like my daughter. I like that.”_ He leaves out the “step” lest it raises a red flag.

“Wanted quality time with your baby girl, Daddy?” You reach under the sheer fabric, hook your thumbs into your thong and drag it down over your ass. Your soft skin ripples, his cock pulses. Swells in his palm, decompresses and leaks onto his abs. 

He stays silent, allows you to get comfortable. You come close to the camera. Twerk. Cup your pussy, hiding it from him. Turn to the side and tease your tits by groping them from within the confines of your bra. Reaper fists the head of his painfully stiff cock. Squeezes to relieve some of the pressure, and lubes up his length with the slippery salt that dribbles out. He broods, languidly strokes and simmers, his blood reaching a boil as he continues to watch.  

The bra finally comes off, the shawl drops to the floor. You lean your tits into the camera. Two perky, erect nipples fill up the screen and take up his sights. You pinch them, suck air through your teeth as if it hurts, and tweak the tiny nubs between pointer and thumb finger. You moan; breathy, lewd, and wet mouth sounds directly into the microphone, “ _Daddy_.”

He types,  _“You’re a little whore.”_

You don’t falter. Come back with a breathy, “Your little whore, Daddy.”

He types,  _“Little whores need discipline.”_

You grin, all pretty teeth, and a shiny pink tongue. Plush lips he wants to see straining and struggling to take his cock. You back off from the camera, turn around and spank your ass.“Have I been a bad little girl, Daddy?”

He types,  _“Yes. You need to be punished.”_

He types, _“Fucked.”_

He types, _“Abused.”_

There it is. Hesitation. A little flicker in your doe-like eyes that says he’s skirted the line. His stomach convulses, his cock jumps on its own, he almost cums.

You recover, however. “You wanna punish this pussy?” Bending over you grab ahold of your cheeks, fingers digging into your plush skin. You pull them apart showing off your slutty, slick flower. Reach between your legs and shove a few of your fingers inside, pump them in and out. Continue to goad him on. Beg him to cum inside and fill up your sex with his daddy dick.  

Reaper cums with a deep animal-like grunt and lurch of his hips. Ropes of thick, rich seed spurts all over his bare chest.

“You’re quiet, Daddy,” you say. “Hope that’s cause you’re cumming.” 

He types,  _“I did. Come over. Clean it up with your tongue.”_

You giggle and shake your head, fake. He caught the roll of your eyes. Your real reaction before you turned your face away from your tattletale camera. “Sorry, Daddy, I don’t make house calls,” you say all sweet. You saunter your way to the camera again, close up and let your tongue lull out of your mouth. Wag it up and down in a licking motion.

He types,  _“I’ll cum to you.”_

You pull your tongue back into your mouth as an alarm goes off, a sound that means his time is up. “Don’t let strangers into my home either.”

Reaper lets you spew some customer service bullshit about how you hope he had a good time with his baby girl. How you hope he’ll be back. “It’s bad of daddies to neglect their baby girls.” The stream goes private once more, kicking him out. Goes live, sometime later, to hundreds of other viewers again. His chest may be messy, his cock soft, but his blood still boils. So you don’t make house calls? You don’t let strangers into your home? Well–he’s no stranger.

* * *

It’s “Roleplay Friday” and today you’re roleplaying as a naughty schoolgirl. With pigtails, a short plaid skirt, a tight white button-down t-shirt, sheer white thigh high stockings, some cute mary janes, and some fake glasses. You look like a girl who stepped right out of a cheesy porno, perfect. You’re ready to rumble. Ready to make a slew of people cum tonight.

You’re not quite ready to get started, but you go online anyway. You’ll let your viewers get a teasing look at your getup while you walk around your room, and if they’re feeling generous they can get an early start on sending in those tips. A few of them get off on this kinda stuff anyway, just watching you do mundane things in nonmundane clothes. That’s fine by you. Tips are tips.  

A few dings notify you that tips are, in fact, rolling already. This has you giddy. Not all nights start out so enthusiastically. You’d get started, sit down, and let them know exactly what tip goals they have to meet in order to get rewarded. But you can’t find your ruler, an intricate part of one of the reward tiers. Where the hell did you put that thing?

You bend over and rummage through one of your tubs that houses costumes, outfits, and toys. Hard focused on figuring out where this elusive piece of wood went. Ah! There is! All the way at the bottom nestled in divet of the tub. You grab it and spin around. All of your excitement for the night disappears in the blink of an eye. You drop the ruler, it plops on the floor, forgotten.

“How’d you get in here?” you ask with a shaky voice and trembling hands. “Get out,” you demand, your voice cracks with fear.  

Reaper, your step-father by law, but nothing to you in your personal reality, is sitting in the chair that resides next to your cam show set up. A shotgun lays on the edge of the bed. Pointed in your direction and well within his reach.

He doesn’t answer you. Just sits and watches you shake. A big menacing mass of black cloak, black boots, and an owl mask that keeps you from being able to assess what his mood might be. Not that you can’t feel it. All of the sinister intent that’s radiating off of his body. You’re not without common sense, not ignorant. You know what kind of man he is. He’s not here to make amends or bond with his step-daughter.  

“I’m live right now,” you try attempting to threaten him. “Your being recorded, thousands of people are watching.” 

He  _laughs_. “I know.” Reaper opens up his clawed hand and shows you your remote. “My show now, little girl.” He presses a button with the tip of a metal talon and the camera zooms in on your terrified face. Tears roll down your cheeks. You thought you’d been so careful.

“What’s wrong, slut?” He reaches over and angles the shotgun a little more in your direction. “I know you haven’t forgotten how to take off your clothes.” 

The dinging sound of tips has never been so jarring. You comply with what he wants, and the tips roll in even more.  _Ding, ding, ding!_  One after the other. A tip for every button that you undo. In your racing mind your thinking, “ _please don’t hurt me,_ ” too afraid to say it out loud because your good senses tell you that he would gladly tell you, with a hidden grin, that he’s going to.

Reaper, the new, unexpected director of your cam show, zooms the camera out to accommodate the amount of skin that you reluctantly show. This is nothing like the strip teases you usually give. No music, no swaying. He doesn’t seem to need or require any of that from you. He just sits, silent. Palms his bludge, squeezes his crotch with crushing pressure.

The more you take off, the more you show, the more his erection grows. Until it’s straining in his pants enough that he needs to unzip and pull it out. A big, fat cock. One you’d normally be giddy to see; if only it wasn’t attached to a monster like him. Even with all the fear running through your veins, your body still starts to respond to the sight of it. You’re so ashamed of the heat seeping out of your pussy. You can feel it soaking your folds, causing your clit to pulse.

With all of your clothes lying at your feet, you bend over to remove the stockings and mary janes. “Leave those on,” Reaper leaned forward and demanded. “Come closer. Bend over and touch yourself.”

The absolute last thing you wanna do is get closer to him, but what else are you supposed to do when you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun? For the sake of your life, you shuffle closer. Bend over and play with yourself.

“Show me how wet you are,” he demands.

You scoopsome of your slick and spread your shaky fingers. Clear strings stretch out between them and break. Reaper growls in approval. “Such a little whore, you are.” You abruptly stand up as he stands, the wood from the chair groans you a brief warning. “Here you had me thinking you wouldn’t be enjoying this.” He chuckles cruelly, words stated with heavy leaded sarcasm. Like your pleasure or comfort doesn’t mean a damn thing to him. It probably doesn’t.  

He zooms the camera all the way out and tosses the remote to the side. Tips are still rolling in at a steady pace. Do they think this is a part of your roleplay Friday? Or do they just not care? You know the internet is full of people with dark, pitch black, questionable desires; you cater to some of them. Maybe they’re getting off more than they ever have in their life.  

You sob and beg, “ _please_ –” only to be cut off when he grabs ahold of you and whips you back around violently. Clawed gloves dig into your arms. So tight they might pierce your skin.

“Shut up,” he growls. Reaper holds you flush back against his chest. He grinds his erection between your ass cheeks. He continues to growl, the sound reverberates in his chest. Sounds and feels like a forboding purr. 

He forgoes a piercing grip on your arms for an even more alarming, even more piercing grip around your neck. His hand’s so big, it forces you to look up at the ceiling. You cry out, gurgled, strangled as Reaper’s cock suddenly slips to your entrance and he thrusts inside. Every last searing, thick inch brings more tears to your eyes. He sets an immediate, brutal, fast pace.

Every thrust reaches deep inside your body. Sharp and breathtaking everytime his length reaches and hits your cervix. Your abused cunt’s so stretched around his cock. He makes you feel tighter, smaller than anything else you’ve ever felt. And you’ve stuffed some sizable toys in there. Then again you could never fuck yourself quite like he’s fucking you. With ferocity and unending stamina.  

You can’t tell who’s heartbeat it is that your feeling. Is it yours? Your hot, puffy velvet pulsating, squeezing, and creaming all over his cock? Or is it him? Is dick welling inside of you? It’s probably a whirlwind of both. You hope it’s him. You  _desperately_  hope it’s him, and that he’s close to cumming. You don’t know how much longer you can take the cruel, ever tightening restriction around your throat without passing out. It’s scary to think about how he’d wake you up.  

He lets up on your throat. Not as a kind gesture or being he’s concerned but because: “Call me daddy,” he demands.

“You’re a pig,” you croak out.

Reaper pulls out of you, more relief with terrible intentions behind it. He curls fingers around the base and smacks your swollen clit with it. His cock’s weight and the momentum actually stings; you hiss through your teeth. Then he takes it and pushes the head against your asshole. “ _Say it,”_ he presses harder and the burn is already worse than anything he’s done to your cunt so far, _”_ or I’ll use your ass to finish.”

“No, no!” you beg. “Please, God, please, Daddy don’t.” 

“Where do you want it?” he asks. 

“In my pussy, fuck my pussy, Daddy,” you sob and try lifting your hips away from his crotch, “oh,  _please_  use my pussy, Daddy.”  

His cock slips back down and into your cunt. He encloses your throat again and picks back up where he left off. Reaper growls and grunts like a wild animal. Like a wolf snarling, humping while he takes a bitch in the woods.

You cum, clawing at the arm choking the life out of you. He finally finishes too. And just as the blind spots are littering your vision like stars. Scalding hot cum spurts inside of you. It’s definitely him pulsing inside of you now. Leaving his mark deep inside of your body.

When he’s done with you he tosses you down onto the ground. Uses a heavy leather boot pressed up into your sensitive cunt to lift your ass. “Stay like that,” he says. “Let them watch my cum seep out of you.” 

You stay there, catch your breath and cry. The tips go off  _ding, ding, ding, ding!_ Faster and far more than you’ve ever heard them before.  


End file.
